Knock Me Out and Tie Me Up
by windscryer
Summary: Sequel to 'Pick Me Up and Put Me Down'. Buttface McPervert is back and this time he's got friends . . . Again, mild Shules. Barely.


Okay, everyone who asked for a sequel, here it is. And Emily and Eiram, I expect payment soon. I take cash, check, or paypal. :D

And the moment they're mine all of you will know too. I have no doubt about that. :D

* * *

"Your car or my bike?" Shawn asked as they exited the bar.

"Mmmm," Juliet hummed in consideration. "How about-"

"How about your bike and _my_ car?"

Juliet and Shawn both frowned as they stopped, finding their way blocked by Idiot McShort-Bus. Apparently one round of public humiliation wasn't enough, he was going to go for two.

"Look," Shawn said, beginning to lose his patience. He unhooked his arm and moved it to Juliet's waist to get her gun again. "I understand this is a difficult concept for you. I don't know how much more clearly she can say that she's not interested—and that she's not even available. I'd spell it out for you, but two letters are probably more than you can handle and I don't want to-"

He trailed off and froze with his hand just outside of her purse when Juliet squeezed his arm. It didn't take any special observational skills to see that with the five friends of Bully McGangster he and Juliet were officially outnumbered.

And for whatever reason the parking lot was completely empty.

"Oh I want you to explain it to me," Thug McFelon-Wannabe said. "And then I'm going to explain something to you. But let's take this to a different location, shall we? I was always told that praise should be public and correction should be done in private."

Shawn snorted as Juliet looked around, measuring the odds. Not really in their favor since she wasn't dressed for street fighting . . .

"Yeah, uh, how about: No," Shawn said. "Oh wait!" he added, snapping his fingers. "You don't understand that word. I guess I'll just have to show you then," he said and started walking, tugging Juliet along.

The brick wall of strong-arm idiocy met him nose to nose, a sneer curling his lip.

"I don't think so," he said.

Shawn would have insisted, but now it was his turn to feel the cool steel that was a handgun's muzzle through his shirt. Juliet had seen the glint when it was brought up and her grip was on the verge of leaving permanent marks in Shawn's arm.

"Okay," Shawn said, playing the submissive victim. Not that he was about to let these guys herd him and Juliet into a dark alley or behind the bar where there would be no witnesses. He may not have been a cop, but he was a cop's son and he'd learned from a very young age that two of the top ten things that you should never do with a criminal were resist them when they were armed, and leave a public place for a private one.

They weren't as mutually exclusive as they seemed, though having to account for both made it interesting to say the least.

"Just take it easy," he said.

"Move," was the barked response.

"Moving," Shawn said and started to slowly turn towards Juliet, using the action to cover the way his hand continued to slip into her purse for her gun.

Evening the odds would help immensely in the 'don't allow the armed guy to take you to a secluded place where no one will hear you scream' plan.

"Wait!"

Shawn and Juliet both froze.

Armed McCrazy-But-Not-As-Dumb-As-He-Looked reached for Juliet's purse, glaring at her when she tried to resist giving it to him.

"You want me to use this on your boyfriend here?" he asked, jerking the gun slightly to draw attention to it.

Juliet considered her options to delay, but it didn't take long. She wasn't going to risk Shawn's life over this when they still had other possible ways to get out of this, so she relinquished her grip and let the purse slide from her shoulder.

"That's a good girl." Her hand that wasn't on Shawn's arm curled into a fist at the patronizing tone, but she said nothing. Shawn would be mouthy enough for both of them, she knew. She had to be the voice of reason—even if she was a silent participant in this little play.

Shawn bit back a frustrated growl and settled for letting his hand rest on Juliet's hip rather than withdraw it, keeping her close if nothing else.

"You know, Dolce & Gabbana, really isn't your style," Shawn said.

"Move," Glarey McMonosyllabic just ordered.

Okay, so this plan wasn't going so well, Shawn acknowledged to himself. But they still had options. He didn't look forward to implementing any of his backup plans because the odds were still against them and now _all_ the guns were in the hands of the bad guys, not to mention that in all of his remaining strategies the likelihood of him getting hurt was high to guaranteed.

And the odds for him surviving at all weren't promising either.

The five silent-yet-menacing witnesses to this crime maintained their loose circle around Shawn and Juliet in the middle, with Brawn-If-Not-Brains McRingleader right behind them, the gun still trained on Shawn as they headed towards the side of the bar and the nice crime-scene-waiting-to-happen known as a poorly lit alley.

It wasn't a cold night in Santa Barbara, but Juliet shivered anyway, partly in response to the situation they were in and partly because it gave her an excuse to stuff her free hand into her pocket.

Where she just happened to have stashed her phone. Thank goodness she hadn't followed her usual routine and put it back in her purse.

She felt around, mentally calculating where the nine button was, then pressed and held for the 911 speed dial.

Another few seconds and she had found the volume button, sending it down to zero. She didn't want to chance the operator being overheard. Not that the operator would be able to hear anything from her end either, she figured, except maybe the static of the speaker rubbing against her clothes, but when there was no response the phone's E911 location would be traced and a car would be sent to investigate, per standard protocols.

And if a gun was fired, well, that would _definitely_ be heard.

Now all they had to do was survive until then cavalry arrived . . .

That could be difficult since she had no way of telling Shawn help was on the way.

Hopefully he wasn't feeling overly heroic this evening, though his earlier intervention that led to their being in this situation did not reassure her on this point.

"Stop," Gruff McTerse ordered.

They were well into the alley and away from the street view. With the music inside the club as loud as it had been, it was unlikely a gunshot would be heard and traffic, both foot and vehicular, wasn't really thick this part of town this time of night.

It was not looking good.

On the bright side, the gun was slid into the back of Dangerous McStupid's jeans. Juliet's purse was handed off and, after a quick search during which her money was removed and stuffed into a pocket and her service weapon was also transferred to the back waistband of a pair of jeans, tossed aside.

"Okay," Shawn said, obviously feeling more confident now that the weapons had been removed from the equation. "Now that we're here in this . . . oh so charming locale-"

"Shut up. You've already said more than enough."

Juliet could see Shawn deciding how exactly he was going to ignore the direction and jumped in before he could.

"Look, we don't want any trouble."

"Shut her up." She wasn't even acknowledged with a glance while the order was given.

From behind one of the other hulking displays of muscle and tattoo art grabbed her arm and pulled.

"Hey!" she protested even as Shawn turned to add his two cents—or fists—to the cause.

He never quite made it though, the fist of Punchy McViolence buried deep in his gut stopping him from completing his turn. And his next couple of breaths.

He folded over the arm, his eyes bulging as his breath whooshed out explosively.

When the support was withdrawn he staggered and nearly hit his knees, though he managed through sheer force of will to stay on his feet if not upright.

After a few seconds to regain his breath he straightened—mostly—and looked at his opponent.

"I-" was all he got out before a right hook to the jaw caught him off guard and sent him to the pavement.

That seemed to be the cue for the rest of the silent statues to come to life and begin pummeling Shawn, mostly with their booted feet, though the occasional fist or knee was involved.

Juliet tried to break free from the grip of her captor, but he had a good six or seven inches on her—not to mention at least seventy pounds of pure muscle.

"Sha-mmn!" she yelled until the hands holding her changed position, one arm crossing her chest and effectively pinning her arms in place, the other hand coming up to cover her mouth and do as had been originally directed and shut her up.

She tried biting, but he was apparently prepared for the possibility because his pinky and ring finger were actually sitting under her jaw, holding it shut and keeping her from being able to use it as a weapon.

She tried kicking, but while she scored what was obviously a painful strike against his calf, he didn't let her go. He just cursed and gave her a vigorous shake that rattled her brain and left her momentarily stunned. Before she could even contemplate stomping on his foot with her dangerous heels he lifted her up so her feet were a few inches from the ground.

Not that any of this stopped her from continuing to struggle, but it wasn't very effective.

And Shawn was now beyond the point of fighting back, instinct reducing him to defense only as he curled up and tried to shield the vital parts with less vital—though still quite capable of being injured—parts.

He'd given it a valiant effort, even landing a few good hits, and tripping one of the guys, but he was outnumbered five-to-one and sheer will to live just wasn't enough against that.

It was a few minutes after he stopped even trying to avoid the blows that a cease-fire was called.

"MMHHM!" Juliet tried to yell, hoping to get some response even if he couldn't tell she was calling his name.

Laughter was what she got, laughter from the group and a soft moan from Shawn, though not one that necessarily indicated actual consciousness.

"Now," Assault McBattery said, coming over to where his friend still held onto Juliet, "it's your turn."

She glared at him, wishing desperately as she had never wished before that she could kill—or at least injure—a person with a mere look.

He indicated that she should be released but grabbed her arms as soon as it happened.

She wanted to say something witty and indicative of her wrath and low opinion of this brainless goon, but this was Santa Barbara, not Hollywood, so she said nothing.

She just silently thanked her years as a cheerleader and her determination to not lose that fitness as she brought her leg up in a sharp high kick that nailed her assailant in the place she could hurt him most, her knee providing a nice strong point of impact that would do more damage than just her leg alone.

He let her go reflexively and doubled over with a gasp, much as Shawn had right before they'd begun beating him senseless. She was again grabbed from behind, though any retaliation was cut short by an unexpected sound from the mouth of the alley.

"DON'T MOVE. THIS IS THE POLICE. EVERYONE PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM."

More than one of the guys who still had Shawn's blood on them cursed and started to run further into the alley, but the flashing lights that strobed the one end of the alley were reciprocated from the other, blocking off all avenues of escape. All the doors here were emergency or otherwise locked from within.

They were good and caught.

Juliet couldn't help the triumphant smirk as she jerked free and spread her hands to the sides, knowing that it was safer to cooperate until she had been identified by her fellow officers.

Guilty McStill-Hunched-Over-In-Agony cursed again, glaring at Juliet, but was either smart enough not to grab for either of the weapons he had, or dumb enough to have forgotten them.

Juliet wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter.

Footsteps of an indeterminate number thanks to the echoey nature of alleys approached from the bright lights focused on them.

Soon shadows coalesced into actual people and then details became clear—like the guns they had aimed at the little group waiting for them.

Hands went up or out to the sides, all remaining very visible and not moving.

"Down on the ground!" a voice ordered from within the ranks of black uniforms. "Hands on your heads, cross your feet at the ankles!"

Juliet started to comply but a voice she recognized stopped her.

"Detective O'Hara?"

"Buzz?" she asked.

Her title penetrated the thick skull of at least one of Shawn's assailants because another sharp curse was uttered.

"Didn't know she was a cop, eh?" one of the officers who was frisking and securing the perpetrators asked. He chuckled. "Boy did you pick the wrong person to mug."

Buzz was still holding onto his weapon in the lowered, but ready position, as he approached Juliet.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. And relatively speaking she was. It was Shawn that needed the attention.

"Buzz, get an ambulance here," she said as she clicked her way over to Shawn and dropped to her knees.

"What is- Oh my gosh!" His gun was holstered as his radio was whipped out and in seconds he was requesting medical assistance to his location and reporting on the situation so far.

She leaned over Shawn to try to get a better look at the front of him, but didn't dare roll him onto his back.

There had been some vicious kicks that landed there and she didn't want to aggravate any possible spinal injuries. She'd leave the serious medical stuff to the EMTs.

She just wanted to be sure he was breathing and his heart was still beating.

Satisfied that those organs were still working she laid a hand on his shoulder, to comfort herself as much as him.

"They're on their way, ETA four minutes," Buzz reported.

Juliet nodded, a soft, "Thanks," escaping before a weighty sigh.

All they could do now was wait and keep an eye on him.

She glanced up when a pair of jean-clad legs flashed past the corner of her eye to see the six men were being led away in handcuffs to waiting squad cars for transport to the station.

She met the glare of Persistent McVengeful with a stony glare of her own before he was forced to look ahead by his escorting officer.

She felt as much as heard a change in the breathing pattern of Shawn as he roused with a moan.

He tried to roll over, but she held him in place.

"Easy, Shawn. Don't move. We need to wait for the EMTs before you go and make anything worse."

"Juliet?" he asked softly.

"I'm here," she said, brushing gentle fingertips through his spiky hair, wincing when she brushed a seeping cut buried there and he flinched.

"You-" He stopped to cough, cradling his stomach and squeezing his eyes shut, though tears leaked out anyway.

Juliet was helpless and a rush of anger at the guys who'd done this flashed through her veins as she did the only thing she could for him until it subsided: rub his back very gently and be there for him.

When it finally subsided, he tried again.

"You okay?" he croaked, panting slowly with the effort of breathing and the pain that held him captive even now after the ones who caused it were gone.

Tears pricked her eyes and she had to swallow.

"Yeah, Shawn," she assured him. "I'm fine."

He nodded and closed his eyes as another cough jerked through him.

She looked up at the worried face of Buzz who loomed over her.

"They should be here any minute," he said.

He was proven honest mere seconds later when the sounds of the sirens became audible over the rest of the noise of the alley and the crowd that had gathered with the arrival of the police.

The way was cleared and the ambulance was backed into place close to Shawn.

Juliet stayed right there with him until she was in danger of being a hindrance to their efforts, at which point she stood and backed up up to Buzz's side.

They watched in silence as the EMTs worked.

"Name?" one of them asked, though not to the patient.

"Shawn," Juliet answered. "Shawn Spencer."

That got a double take. "The psychic?"

She nodded.

The paramedic looked back down and shook his head, probably wondering how someone who was psychic didn't see this coming, but said nothing out loud.

"Shawn?" he said as his partner took baseline vitals. "Can you tell me where you are?"

He blinked languidly, then again more quickly, as if just realizing something was going on.

"Juliet?"

The EMT looked up at her and she crouched down by his head.

"I'm right here, Shawn," she said. "Do you know where you are?"

"Alley. Club," he said.

"Do you know which one, Shawn?" the EMT, Perkins by his name badge, asked.

Shawn's brow furrowed. "DV8?"

The EMT nodded, though Shawn couldn't see it.

"Good. And can you tell me your full name?"

"Shawn Spencer. Psychic Detective."

Juliet smiled at that and even Perkins' and his partner's lips curved slightly.

"Can you tell me what the date is, Shawn?"

"Um . . ." Shawn said, then licked his lips. "Friday?"

"Friday the what?"

"Thirteenth?"

That got a frown from both Juliet and Perkins until Shawn spoke again.

"No wait. Nightmare on Elm Street?"

"Shawn?" Juliet said.

"Jules," Shawn said, his brow smoothing. "What movie am I thinking of?"

"I don't know, Shawn. Do you know what day it is?"

"It's got . . . that one guy . . ."

"Shawn," Perkins said, trying to redirect the focus of his patient. "Can you tell me what your birthday is?"

"Duh," Shawn said. "It's . . ." He frowned. "It's in December? January maybe . . . It's close to New Year's . . . Hey Jules, remember that party last year? At the station?" His smile wasn't much as compared to his normal grin, but considering the pain he had to be in, it was impressive nonetheless.

She smiled back.

"Yeah," she said and kept talking when Perkins gestured for her to do so. He had moved on to checking for physical signs of a concussion since his answers were either a little suspect or flat out wrong. The distraction would help until they could get some drugs into him. "Where you kissed the Chief?"

Shawn grunted as his back was palpitated and a particular sore spot was pressed. "On the cheek," he defended himself.

Juliet chuckled.

"Maybe, but it still took her by surprise. She almost arrested you."

Shawn's smile had made a comeback, his eyes drifting shut.

"Yeah. Good times."

Taking the chance provided by the natural break in conversation, Perkins said, "Shawn, I need you to tell me if you feel this."

A few judiciously applied pricks from a pen on various points of his body had Shawn grunting or even hissing with the flare of pain.

Was there any part of him that _didn't_ hurt?

Maybe his spleen. Or maybe there just weren't pain nerves in his spleen . . .

"Okay, Shawn," Perkins said when the torture session was over. "Preliminary tests for spinal damage look good, but just to be sure we're going to put a cervical collar on you and then roll you onto a backboard, all right?"

"'Kay," Shawn whispered, just wishing they had gotten to the part where he was floating on the happy drugs.

Some guys thought that pain was macho. Shawn thought they were nuts. When he was injured—especially this badly—he was all for the drugs. The stronger the better.

Although he should probably have Gus there to make sure he didn't say anything he shouldn't, like the fact that he wasn't psychic. Or that he was the one that stole Lassie's last candy bar from his hidden stash.

"Juliet," he said as they attached the collar around his neck. Okay that felt weird.

"Yes, Shawn?"

"Call Gus. Not my father. Well, call him too. I guess. But not until Gus is at the hospital. 'Kay?"

She nodded. "Okay." She glanced up at Buzz and he nodded and went to go see about getting a hold of Shawn's preferred emergency contact.

"Okay, Shawn," Perkins said. "We're going to roll you on three. Ready?"

Shawn tried to nod, found that was no longer possible, then just said, "Ready."

"One. Two. Three."

The tensing of muscles and a face-scrunching wince accompanied the roll, leaving Shawn panting again as he was strapped down for transport.

Juliet stood as they lifted him and headed back to the ambulance.

A figure in a suit pushed his way past the ambulance to where Juliet stood watching them get ready to head out.

"O'Hara?"

"Carlton?" she said in surprise, blinking at the sight of him there.

"I heard over the scanner . . ." he said. "What happened?"

She sighed and rubbed at a tension headache building behind her eyes.

"It's kind of a long story," she said. "Can I tell you on the way to the hospital?"

Lassiter glanced at Buzz.

"I've got this, sir. Can you get Jul- Uh, Detective O'Hara's statement for me? And Shawn's if he's, you know, able to give it."

Lassiter nodded and then gestured towards where his car was parked just beyond the police line at the alley's entrance.

They went a few steps then stopped to allow the ambulance to move out first, both wincing at the shrill scream of the siren.

They resumed walking as they watched it reach the crowd, the lights and sirens parting it as effectively as Moses at the Red Sea.

Then it vanished around the corner as the sirens faded away.

o.o

A repetitive squeak-clack echoed through the station, announcing the arrival of someone who had taken a few crutch-aided steps closer to being an honest-to-goodness hero among the police officers of Santa Barbara.

Not that he wasn't still a civilian, but saving the virtue—and possibly life—of one of their own had definitely bought him some points with most of the cops.

A few weeks after the fact and he still bore some of his badges of courage, most notably the cast that encased his left leg from just below the knee down to his toes that stuck out the end. The bruises had all but faded and he wasn't as sore as he had been.

He also wasn't giving the medical community fits and starts over what he could and could not do—and how their opinions differed on that list of activities.

Today was actually his first day off of bed rest—enforced by virtue of keeping him in the hospital as long as possible, then releasing him into his father's care.

Shawn may have had charm, but that only worked when he had access to people and Henry had been pretty strict about visitors, only allowing unsupervised visits with those he knew would not give in and help his son escape—not many people made that list.

Juliet wondered if he'd been released, based on the fact that Gus was his escort, but then she spotted Henry and knew that it wasn't true. So why was he here?

Juliet stood and met him halfway, smiling at the sight of him up and about, no matter what the reason.

"Hey, Jules," he said. "How's my favorite detective?"

She tilted her head and said, "I don't know, Shawn. How _are_ you doing?"

He laughed at that, a twinkle in his eye that sent most of the stress she was still carrying from that night to slide from her shoulders like snow melt in the Rockies in spring.

"Good," he said sincerely, impressed by the way she snuck that inquiry into the conversation. "Much better now that I've escaped from Alcatraz."

"Don't look now, Al Capone, but I think the warden is on your tail."

Shawn sighed, but it wasn't a true sigh of weariness.

"Yes. Sadly, Gus wouldn't listen to me and put any allergy medicine in his Frosty."

"Because I'm not an idiot, Shawn," Gus said. "Hello, Juliet."

"Hi, Gus."

She'd seen quite a bit of him over the last few weeks actually. He'd delivered regular updates to the station and ferried files back and forth between the chief and Shawn who had been allowed to continue work, though if the case required him going anywhere and doing anything other than getting 'vibes' from the file it was reassigned and another was delivered in its place.

"What brings you into the station today?" she asked, curious about the outing since Shawn obviously hadn't been given his walking—well, hopping—papers.

"Tying up some loose ends," Shawn said breezily, but Juliet sensed the underlying tension in his voice.

Juliet frowned. "What loose ends?"

"Ah, Mr. Spencer."

The chief's voice turned Juliet and had Shawn and Gus looking past her to the other woman.

"Chief!" Shawn said happily. "Did you get my message on the Winter file?"

"Yes. I've got two officers out looking into it as we speak. Now if you'll follow me, Rachel is waiting for you in the conference room."

Shawn nodded as Juliet frowned.

"Rachel Brunner? The DA?"

Shawn nodded. "Pre-trial deposition."

Juliet blinked. Oh. Those loose ends.

She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed, knowing that the rest of his afternoon would not be fun.

"Thank you," she said.

He gave her a quizzical look, tilting his head.

"For what?"

She smiled. "For being a gentleman," she said and went up on her toes to brush a kiss on his cheek.

She returned to her desk, blushing furiously. Had she actually done that? In public? In front of all her co-workers?

She dared to glance up when she reached her desk and saw Shawn still standing there on his crutches looking a little dazed.

Gus tugged his arm, but when he shook himself out of the stupor, he headed over to her instead of following his father to the conference room.

"You're welcome," he said. "But it wasn't that big a deal. Anyone would have-"

"No, Shawn. Anyone would not have. And even if some would, the important thing—to me anyway—is that _you_ did."

He still looked uncertain for a second and then he nodded, his cocky grin coming back.

"Of course I did."

She grinned in response.

"And I'd do it again in a heartbeat," he said without a hint of joking.

Before she could respond to—or even comprehend that exactly—he had spun around and was hop-skipping away.

Lassiter came over, studiously not looking Spencer's direction.

"O'Hara, I need this file from evidence. And did you hear back from the ME on that floater?"

She blinked, shook herself, and then looked at her partner.

"Um," she said while she tried to redirect her thoughts. She accepted the sheet of paper, casting a quick glance over it, then nodded. "Right. The, uh, floater . . ." she repeated. "Uh . . ." She looked to her desk and spotted the file in question.

"Here it is."

Lassiter accepted it and nodded. "When you're done retrieving that file I've got some phone calls for you to make."

She nodded. "Sure, Carlton."

Time to get back to work. She'd have to reserve her contemplation of the riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma known as Shawn Spencer until later.

* * *

Okay, really this time. IT'S DONE. NO MORE. FINITO. And all that jazz.

Review please and thank you! :D


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